


Augend

by Jubalii



Series: The Arithmetic of Amour [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Childhood Friends, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27469576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: A crackpot inspector, an unexpected trial, and a two-clown circus defense sharing a single braincell....  Clearly, things are not going well for Ms. Darklaw, supposed teacher at the Owl Cote School for Young Women. Thankfully, this time she's not alone.[AU where Barnham was also in the bell tower on the night of the Great Fire.]
Relationships: Zacharias Barnham/Eve Belduke
Series: The Arithmetic of Amour [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006998
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Augend

“Elusive Jewel Thieves at Large in London! Scotland Yard on Red Alert!”

 _This doesn’t bode well._ Darklaw folded the newspaper over in her hands, thumb covering the main photograph as she stared at the tiny print. She was alone in the court lobby, or nearly so; most of the gallery had flooded into the sunny streets the moment the judge called for recess, eager for a breath of fresh air. The rest had joined the growing queue outside the toilets, idly discussing the trial as they waited. The only ones left, besides herself and Espella, were the two policemen standing guard in front of the courtroom doors.

Her jaw clenched as she scanned the article once more, searching the text for anything incriminating. Of course, there was nothing at all to suggest that today’s trial had anything to do with the thieves—how could it? The _Times_ article merely stated that all potential leads had gone cold, leaving the inspector in charge under immense pressure from the city’s elite.

However, there was also nothing to dissuade her growing fear. Even though she had no concrete evidence to base her concerns on, it didn’t help that the incident on the freighter had been too suspicious to dismiss as mere coincidence. The chef, coming to the cargo hold even though it was too late in the evening for a supply run. The desperate fight over a plush toy that couldn’t cost more than a few pounds. Something wasn’t right….

 _It doesn’t matter_. Her job wasn’t to find the thieves, so there was no sense in wasting time worrying over it. Compared to this whale of a news story, Espella’s trial was the size of a common gnat. If luck were on her side, it would remain a footnote at the bottom of a court record no one would bother reading. 

_Still._ Darklaw scowled, rubbing the side of her neck. Her shoulders were tight from stress, aching for the relief of a hot shower. Relaxation hadn’t been an option lately; she’d barely had time to breathe since that crack investigator’s automobile escape. _This shouldn’t have been allowed to escalate in the first place,_ she scolded herself. _If I’d only known that this would happen, then perhaps—_

“Phew.” The heavy sigh of relief carried across the lobby. Darklaw kept her face pointed firmly at the article, eyes lifting to see that _bothersome_ defense attorney and his noisy assistant. According to the League of Attorneys, they were foreigners on some sort of goodwill exchange program to London. Their mannerisms, as well as his clear nervousness in the courtroom, had clearly reflected their lack of local knowledge. Their conversation was loud enough that everyone in the lobby was privy to it, whether they wanted to be or not.

“Glad the first part’s over,” Mr. Wright said, rubbing his temples with a strained smile. “That witness was quite a…” He paused, chewing over his words. “…character.”

“I bet he’d love to be one,” Ms. Fey quipped, palm pressed against her cheek. “…In a crime drama. He’d end up making it a comedy, though.” Clearly, the first witness’s lack of decorum hadn’t left a favorable impression with either of them. Not that Darklaw could blame them, though. At home, her partner was in charge of the town’s security; he kept his men in top form, so she was used to near perfection. An officer of such low caliber would never have passed the entrance exams, much less been allowed on patrol alone.

“I’d hate it if poor Espella was found guilty because of his shaky testimony,” Ms. Fey continued, shaking her head. The beads around her neck clattered against the ones on her long bangs. “But at least now it looks like we might be able to get Espella a “not guilty” verdict.”

 _That was **not** the deal! _Darklaw bit her tongue, seething inwardly at the words. The trial so far had been an absolute farce, the worst part being that none of it should have happened in the first place. Mr. Wright had been given clear orders to accept the plea bargain, and he’d ignored them. Perhaps that was a normal occurrence in _his_ country, but in England attorneys were supposed to represent the best interests of their clients!

“Yeah,” Mr. Wright agreed, proving her point. “I hope that cheered Espella up a bit.” He looked out over the lobby, stopping dead in his tracks as her caught her eye. Darklaw frowned, her fist tightening around the newspaper until the inspector’s face crumpled beneath her thumb. “…Ack!” he choked, gulping hard. She could see his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them aloud. In the small wake of his triumph, he’d forgotten all about her.

“She’s reading my newspaper,” Ms. Fey commented in surprise.

“Maybe it’s just me, but she doesn’t look pleased….” 

_Because I am not, sir. Not pleased in the slightest._ She folded the paper in half once more, making a neat square as she rose to face them fully. _And I know I’m not the only one._ As if reading her mind, her bag began to vibrate against her hip. She could feel her phone buzzing incessantly in the front pocket, rattling the cat charm on the bag’s chain. One hand automatically clutched the strap on her shoulder, fingers tight around the leather as she willed herself to ignore it. _You’ll just have to wait,_ she mentally chided the phone, knowing full well who would be on the other line.

“Oh, it’s you.” She wanted to tear into him, to rip that foolishly grinning face to shreds with her words. Unfortunately, her authority didn’t carry over into this world. Instead, she graced him with her best neutral displeasure. “I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Wright….”

Had it not been for the company’s name on the line, she might have appreciated them more. The appeal of ambition wasn’t lost on her, but there was a time and place for everything. If the press were to catch wind of Labrelum’s involvement in the trial, however circumstantial, they might be nosy enough to dig up some old family secrets. What’d they’d find was an untapped goldmine of tabloid content, especially considering the fact that her father was so recently—

Setting her jaw, Darklaw pushed the thought from her mind. There’d be time enough for introspection later, and besides—it did no good to concern herself with something that would most likely never happen. She’d worked hard to secure this plea bargain, and even harder keeping Espella suppressed enough to stand trial. All that effort, wasted on a two-bit defense attorney who couldn’t follow simple instructions… it was far more than a crying shame.

“Um… thank you.” Mr. Wright blushed, mistaking her cool tone as politeness.

“But,” she continued, not allowing him to bask in the imagined compliment, “while I understand your drive to win this case….”

“M-my drive?” Darklaw crossed her arms, pointedly looking away as she delivered her own verdict.

“…This is not the time for your personal ambitions.” Mr. Wright looked shocked, hands hanging loosely at his sides.

“I don’t….”

“I told you before, didn’t I?” Darklaw allowed her inner frustrations to shine through her otherwise stalwart demeanor. “That Espella is pleading guilty, and that you should accept the proposed punishment.”

Both Mr. Wright and Ms. Fey looked towards Espella, who stood demurely nearby. She was still in a trance, swaying slightly on her feet and offering no emotion whatsoever. She didn’t seem to hear anything the others were saying, her large eyes fixed on the window across the lobby.

“This… incident has already been settled between our school and the police.” That was the true reason that Mr. Wright had been specially selected. Darklaw had hoped that by securing him for the trial, she could avoid an English defense—one that might raise eyebrows at how quickly the case was being settled.

A foreigner was less likely to recognize the Cantabella name, and they certainly wouldn’t know that the Owl Cote School for Young Women didn’t exist. Their orders had been simple: secure Espella, keep her safe in the modern world, and return her to Labyrinthia by any means necessary. The trial was nothing more than a minor wrench in the works. That being said….

Even with the Court’s most prolific men on the hunt for the jewel thief, it had taken a lot of hard bargaining on her part to pull the strings. Darklaw personally detested under-the-table dealings; they were distasteful at best, sleazy at worst. She had to admit, though, that political greed and a pretty face often made for a satisfying equation… on her end, at least.

Several officials had been more than willing to work things out over a “private lunch”, complete with invitations to fancy establishments overlooking London’s more picturesque views. Their slimy attitudes only made it more fun to crush their dreams entirely; it was incredibly cathartic to show up to their date with a young, handsome business partner in tow, watching their middle-aged faces fall in despair.

“But, Ms. Darklaw!” Ms. Fey implored, eyes wide and fists clutched at her breast. “Espella could be innocent!” It took everything she had to keep from rolling her eyes. Of _course_ she was innocent; did they really not see her meaning? The crux of the matter was not the verdict itself, but whether or not they were willing to honor their client’s wishes! 

“Believe me,” she managed, “it would be in Espella’s best interest if you end the trial as soon as possible.” There was a practical reasoning behind her request. It was next to impossible to know just how long Espella’s hypnosis would last. Indefinitely, in theory, but the ink was never meant to be so heavily administered. Three extra doses had already been given in an effort to keep her calm.

That sort of exposure often had very unintended side effects; she, for one, wasn’t willing to wait around for them to start kicking in. The result was already unnerving, especially in her current dissociated state of mind. Still, it was a necessary evil.

“The more this trial drags on,” Darklaw added, “the more traumatic it is for this poor girl.” That was the truest falsehood she’d ever spoken. If everything went as planned, Espella would have no memories of the trial, or of modern-day London. As soon as they returned to Labyrinthia, her memories could be restored to a time before the impromptu abduction. Everything would be as it was before: that was the will of Labryinthia’s creator. But it was dangerous to play with fire, hanging hopes on theories and maybes.

“I…” Mr. Wright looked utterly crestfallen. “I’m sorry….” He sighed, shoulders slumping. She could see the gears turning behind his polite expression. _He isn’t a bad man._ Mr. Wright’s intentions were as pure as anyone’s. Maybe more so, seeing as he was willing to go so far for a complete stranger, and in a foreign country at that. _The road to Hell, as they say… it’s being paved as he speaks._

“In any case, Mr. Wright…. We don’t want our school being shoved into the limelight because of this case.” It would be a PR nightmare of unspeakable proportions. The school couldn’t be found on any map, after all, and there were no alumni to speak of. It hadn’t even a full day’s establishment; Darklaw had made the name up before breakfast while helping Espella to pin the owl brooch to the front pocket of her brand new uniform.

“So if you could keep form picking at meaningless details, such as that toy….” She all but shuddered to think of it, the entire crate staring out into the shadowy cargo hold. Who on earth would want such a homely little plushie? The blank, empty void of its eyes was more unsettling than Espella’s current stare.

“Get this trial over with quickly. This is your client’s wish, Mr. Wright.” Their eyes locked for a long moment; his slid away first, expression wilting under the force of her gaze.

“….I understand. I’ll do my best.”

“It’s a relief to hear that.” She nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some formalities I must attend to before the trial resumes. Espella, stay here in the lobby until you’re called for.” The girl blinked once, slowly, as she processed the direct order.

“Yes, Ms. Darklaw.”

“Very good.” Darklaw turned on her heel, reaching into the bag for her mobile as she walked in the direction of the toilets. Behind her, Ms. Fey let out an angry huff.

“What the heck was that all about?! We’ve been bustin’ our butts in there trying to prove Espella is innocent, and she expects us to give up _now_?!” Mr. Wright’s reply was lost as she turned the corner, opening her phone with one hand.

There were no less than seven missed calls, followed by a single text message. _Upstairs, second hallway to the right. I’ll find you._ Rolling her eyes, Darklaw returned the phone to its pocket before maneuvering around the toilet queues. At the opposite end of the L-shaped lobby, a double set of stairs framed the courtroom’s main entrance; she climbed them rapidly, one hand steadying her bag at her hip.

The upper floor continued lower’s color scheme, gilded wainscoting intersected at regular intervals by green columns. In an alcove made for reporters, cameramen were setting up equipment for a post-trial interview. Two attorneys leaned against the railing overlooking the lobby, debating in hushed tones. No one spared a glance as she passed by, heels clicking on the polished marble tile. 

She found the second hallway and turned, keeping her head high and gait even. If anyone caught sight of her, they would see a woman on her way to an important appointment, one who knew exactly where she was headed. Richly furnished offices lined both sides of the hallway, leather seating and mahogany bookshelves backlit by PC monitors. They were all currently abandoned, their occupants either in session or out to an early lunch. 

Darklaw felt her partner’s presence before she saw him, the tailcoat of his high-end suit little more than a green flash in her peripherals. He slowed his long stride to match her pace, their movements syncing with a natural ease that came from years of working alongside one another. Neither spoke, his hand lightly brushing her right elbow in a sort of greeting before gesturing to a door left ajar at the end of the hall.

Fully expecting to find another office, she stopped short when she was met with a custodian’s rolling cart instead of an attorney’s desk. Her heels clattered on bare concrete as she tried to turn back, shoulder smacking painfully against a low hanging shelf. He crowded in after her, kicking the door shut behind him and trapping them in the cramped darkness. The only source of light in the closet was a dying bulb, dangling barely a hand’s breadth from his forehead.

 _Row upon row of empty offices, and he chooses a broom closet. How cliché._ She rubbed the sting from her shoulder with a grimace, nose wrinkling at the musty odor of wet cloth and camphor. However, her complaints fizzled before she could give them a voice, quelled by his expression. He’d grown visibly agitated in the courtroom, his smug mask slipping more than once when faced with the defense’s objections. But now his lips were a tight, bloodless line, eyes blazing at her through the flickering shadows. She could practically hear his molars grinding themselves to dust.

“I don’t suppose you’d care to explain.” The snarl in his voice went straight through her, an electric jolt that raised the hair on her arms. He often used the same tone when disciplining his men— knights who’d not only disappointed him, but had forsaken their honor in the process. Until now, she’d never been the one on the receiving end of his fury. It was easy to see why men twice his age were left rattling in their boots.

“Explain?” She swallowed heavily, doing everything possible to avoid his gaze. His eyes were unnerving in ways she couldn’t understand; there was no good way to describe how she felt when trapped beneath one of his poignant looks, the kind that stole the breath from her lungs and left her heart stuttering in her chest. It simply wouldn’t do—she needed her wits about her, especially at a time like this.

It didn’t help that he was so… so _close_. Although they were on opposite sides of the closet, she could have reached out and easily touched his chest without moving more than her arm. To call it distracting would be an understatement, and yet—again, there was no rhyme or reason as to why it bothered her. This was her lifelong friend and partner in crime, for pete’s sake! Zacharias Barnham, the one person who knew her almost as well as she knew herself! 

If anything, the intimate space between them should have felt comfortable, safe. Instead it filled her with a prickly tension, one that settled uneasily in the pit of her stomach. She studied the diamond pattern on his vest, tracing it up to where it met the green lapels of his jacket. The pressed collar of his shirt was rumpled, silk tie twisted askew where he’d no doubt grabbed at it in frustration. She fought the urge to reach out and fix it for him, fingers twitching at the thought of smooth satin against her palms.

“Well?”

“What is there to explain?” Darklaw crossed her arms, trapping her traitorous hands against her ribs. There was nothing she could tell him, no excuse she could give that would make this lapse of judgment acceptable in his eyes. He had counted on her, and she’d failed him—that was the long and short of it. Why bother explaining something they both already knew? It would be a waste of time.

“We had a plan.” His voice dropped to a low hiss as footsteps rang on the marble tile outside. Their combined breathing seemed loud in the emptiness that followed, eyes locked on the door as they followed the sound down the long corridor. She let out a soft sigh of relief; if anyone were to catch the two of them here, in a supply closet of all places….

He seemed to share her thoughts, knocking aside the lightbulb with an impatient hand as he closed the gap between them. Shadows danced crazily up the concrete walls, the light glinting off the fake attorney’s badge on his left lapel. There was hardly any space left between them, and nowhere for her to go; the wall was flush against her spine, lanky tendrils of dry mop falling across one shoulder. She turned her face towards the wall, determined to ensure that his proximity wouldn’t visibly affect her.

“I _know_ we had a plan.” She could feel the force of his temper, kept in check by sheer willpower. His anger was justified; she was the one who’d assured him that the foreign attorney would be easily convinced. He’d relied on her, and as a result had been humiliated in front of the English Court. Any excuses would only incite him further.

“Then what, pray tell, possessed you to change course without consulting me first? Do you realize what might have happened? It’s—this isn’t Labyrinthia, Eve!” Her heart quickened at the sound of her true name. He was the only one who used it anymore, now that her father was… gone. “You said yourself that there wouldn’t be a single hitch in this plan, and now you’ve gone and made me look like an incompetent fool.”

“You—”

“Me?” His lip curled to reveal the pointed edge of one canine. “What about me? I’ve done my share, and more. There’s nothing to be said about _me_.” The sharp tone was just enough to rouse her own ire. Between heartbeats, the frustration she felt at Mr. Wright’s actions boiled over.

“I told him to take the plea deal.” She pressed her palm to his chest, both to ground herself and push him away. “Multiple times, in fact. And while you were busy sniffing out the nearest broom closet, I was making sure to hammer it into his thick skull. Furthermore,” she snapped, “you have just as much of a hand in this as I do… as he does. Don’t play innocent.”

“Pardon?”

“When the defense went off script the first time, it was your job to remind him that—”

“—that there was a plea deal already agreed upon? In case you weren’t paying attention, Miss Darklaw, I did remind him of that very thing. Multiple times, in fact,” he crowed, parroting her words with a bitter smile. “Face it: your attorney made a mockery of the judicial system.”

“My attorney wasn’t the one who called a second witness to—”

“I was doing my job.” The cold note in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “We settled on a guilty verdict. That’s what this trial is riding on. Do you realize how hard it is to convince a gallery—a _judge_ — that an innocent girl is guilty?”

“Yes!” She dismissed the complaint with a huff. “We do it all the time, Zack. It’s not that difficult.”

“In a controlled setting, with faked evidence and unreliable eyewitness testimony. Again: this isn’t Labyrinthia. We’re supposed to—”

“We’re supposed to have Espella on the first flight home. Tonight.” She tilted her head, glaring at him over her frames. “Or have you forgotten that little detail?” His heart thundered angrily against her palm.

“If he’d just taken the plea, the trial would be over by now.”

“You are absolutely impossible,” she spat. “I should have asked the court for a low-ranking nobody; at least then I would have gotten a properly mediocre performance. But I should have known that your pride would—”

“My pride?! Of all the—” He laughed angrily. “ _You_ have no right to lecture _me_ about pride!”

“Would you keep your voice down?!” She sighed, massaging her forehead with one hand. “Look. I reminded Mr. Wright of his duty to his client when I met him in the lobby. I just need you to stop… indulging him.”

“It’s the prosecution’s job to fight for a guilty verdict.”

“I know what your job is. I’m telling you to do a different one.” The tension rose between them as they glared at one another. He let out a long breath, tongue working in his cheek before he shook his head decisively. 

“No.”

“N-no?” It had been such a long time since she’d received such a clear-cut refusal; no one in Labyrinthia dared deny High Inquisitor Darklaw—especially not _him_! He was her second in command, the left hand to her right; even when he knew her grandiose plans were bound to fail, he always agreed to see them through to the end. There was no doubt in her mind that he felt a wicked enjoyment every time she was forced to eat crow and admit she was wrong. But this was… this was unprecedented. She was so surprised that she nearly forgot to be angry.

Nearly.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean that I’m not going to do it.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She meant to scold, but it sounded dangerously close to pleading. “Zack!”

“No,” he repeated sternly.

“Just a little longer, that’s all. When court reconvenes, I’m positive that Mr. Wright will accept the—”

“Will he?” He leaned down, caging her in further until she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you truly believe that?” Her petulant frown was answer enough; she was too obstinate to gratify him with the truth. Mr. Wright might have been a veritable stranger to her, but she didn’t need to know him to understand the sort of man he was. A man like him didn’t accept a guilty verdict without a fight. She would have better luck hoping for snow in July.

“We’ve tried it your way,” he continued, voice softening. “Now it’s my turn.”

“No! I—no, we don’t have time to change the plan.” She shook her head quickly, chewing her lip as she thought. “We’ll just have to… Mr. Wright will—”

“Mr. Wright _won’t_ , and we both know it.”

“But—” she stammered. “It’s easier to—I’ve already planned—”

“I wish you’d stop acting like you’re the only one involved in this,” he interrupted, brow furrowing in a fond sort of exasperation. “You’re not alone. I’m here.” He wasn’t wrong; he was always at her side, faithfully upholding the promise he made to her over a decade ago. They were light and dark, sun and moon, as near to each other as the intertwined faces on the Storyteller’s brooch.

“I…” Once again she found herself without a logical argument. “We don’t have time for this!”

“You’re right. We don’t.” He leaned in even further, ducking to avoid the shelf over her shoulder. “So,” he murmured, “how might I persuade you? To let me handle things for now.” His voice was smooth, warm breath tickling the tender skin beneath her ear. 

“What are you—” Another shiver ran through her, this one entirely different from earlier. Her fingers curled against his chest, nails catching the rich fabric of his suit jacket. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that jacket, not since he’d stepped behind the prosecution bench earlier. It was odd to see him in court without his trusty armor; the lack of it only highlighted how well he wore a neatly tailored suit. The only thing better than seeing him with it on was to imagine him taking it off, never breaking eye contact as he loosened his tie….

 _No!_ She froze, teeth clenched to the point of pain. _Not here, not **now** , of all the times…!_

He pulled back, lips curling into his usual mischievous smirk. It was clear that he was only trying to anger her, taking her mind off the argument and sealing his own victory in the process. Teasing her happened to be one of his favorite hobbies; he knew her well enough to know exactly which buttons to push, and in what order. Proper garrison ideals had been forcibly hammered into his skull for years, yet they somehow hadn’t robbed him of his most infuriating trait.

Part of what she was feeling must have shown in her expression; the smile slipped from his face, quickly being replaced with something more heated. When they were young, he used to joke about being able to read her thoughts: _you don’t have to say a word, Eve. Just show me your eyes._ For better or worse, he hadn’t lost that talent. One look was all he needed to know what she was thinking, unless she was careful enough to keep her guard up. 

The silence grew to fill the space around their bodies, crackling with something both familiar and unwanted—at least in the present moment. It was a tacit, volatile energy, one that threatened to ignite at the slightest provocation. They were both guilty of keeping it kindled with subtle jabs and petty taunts, so-called witty remarks that better suited adolescents.

Often it was a childish contest to see who could be provoked the easiest, ending only when the sullen loser stomped away to cool off. But other times it was different, quite noticeably so, with their keen observations toed the line between banter and flirting. The simplest of touches—sometimes as chaste as an accidental brushing of gauntlets—was enough to send them rushing off in opposite directions, red-faced and with no clear winner in sight.

She knew without asking that it hadn’t escaped his notice. In their more playful conversations he would sometimes stare at her with a quiet intensity, the moment lasting a beat too long and leaving them both flustered. During those brief, rare instances she feel the need radiating from him, a helpless plea that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—put into words. It didn’t help that she couldn’t say with any certainty just what it was that he wanted from her.

That being said, she was fairly certain of what she wanted from him… right now, anyway. Never mind that it was the worst of times, in one of the most inopportune places imaginable. It was borderline stupid, it was cliché, it was hopelessly, _pathetically_ romanticized in her head—all the same, she couldn’t help thinking it.

_You should kiss me._

His gaze dropped to her lips and back, an almost imperceptible gesture.. but one she still caught. The thought became a desperate ache behind her ribs, highlighting the anxious flutter of her pulse.

“Zack?” Her voice was hard to recognize, strained and shaky. He gulped, more a nervous movement of his throat than any real sound. “Zack, t-the trial….” Even as she spoke, her hand seemed to move of its own accord. It left the warmth of his chest, rising to gently touch the thin scar at his jaw. He froze completely, holding his breath as her gloved fingertips ghosted across his parted lips.

She didn’t notice him moving closer until he was, his body pressing her against the wall in a way that left her weak. He tilted his head and then paused, unsure. Leaning back slightly, he glanced at her, both gauging her reaction as well as waiting… for what? A refusal? She ought to refuse. First kisses were supposed to be special, and sweet and— and not in the supply closet of a courthouse. But even if it was true… as long as the kiss was from him, then… _I won’t stop him_.

“Eve…” With a soft sigh, he brushed a stray curl from her cheek. She tipped her head back, melting further against the wall; her heels bit punishingly into the back of her ankles, but she was beyond caring. To her surprise he took the invitation, trembling fingers trailing a line down her neck until they reached the collar of her blouse.

She should have closed her eyes, allowing her lashes to hide all the mixed emotions that swirled in her mind like so many red petals. Instead she looked straight into his, knowing all the while that her glasses offered him a perfect, outlined window directly into her thoughts. It was an unspoken challenge, daring him to read whatever it was he saw there and draw his own conclusions. 

He let out a choked exhale that sounded suspiciously like a curse, bending his head as he tilted her chin up to meet him. The movement jostled her bag, the strap sliding from her shoulder before she could move to stop it. It slipped off her arm, landing with a heavy thud on the concrete floor between their shoes. Startled, he leapt away, the back of his head smacking into the lightbulb.

She sagged against the wall as he swore sharply, rubbing his head. Her heart was in her throat, beating frantically against the ribbon at her collar. The moment was gone, taking her brainless behavior with it. Her entire face burned, both at the situation and at her own actions. She was on the job, for pete’s sake!

And yet she’d nearly—and with—they were so close to—

Humiliation was at war with disappointment, leaving her more than a little annoyed. She could only hope that the light was dim enough to hide her blush.

“—over.” His lips at moved, but the bag’s echo—as well as her pulse—still rang in her ears.

“What?” He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair and making the ends stand even higher.

“I-I said that the recess is almost over.” It was clear that he was blushing just as hard, keeping his gaze carefully averted as she blindly groped for her bag.

“Yes.”

“So… you’ll let me handle it, right?”

“I… y-yes.” Anything, anything he wanted. She needed to leave, and _now_ —she’d have agreed to dancing on the witness stand if it meant he would stop talking. “Do whatever you have to. I don’t care, just get it done.” 

“Eve—”

“Wait a few minutes before following me.” She fumbled with the door handle, her hands shaking hard enough that they rattled the knob. Warm fingers encircled hers before she could react, steadying her long enough to open the door. She waited, hoping that he’d speak, praying he’d stay quiet. He lingered only a moment, squeezing her hand before letting his fingers slide away.

“We’ll talk at the hotel.” While she knew he meant it as a consolation, in the present light it sounded more like a threat.

“Fine.” She paused only to make sure the coast was clear before hurrying into the hall without another word. _Handle things… what does that even mean?_ Shaking her head, she let her practiced mask slide into place once more. It was much better to be Darklaw right now, for Espella’s sake if not her own. Darklaw didn’t frequent broom closets; she _certainly_ didn’t let the thought of kissing her fellow inquisitor turn her into a shaking mess.

The main lobby was filling fast, but she saw a security guard showing Espella back into the courtroom. Thankfully, the girl was still bland and placid. Mr. Wright and his assistant brought up the rear, heads together as they spoke in hushed tones. The gallery swarmed around them, the cityscape odor of smog and sweat clinging to their clothes. _Oh god…_ She blanched. _I hope I don’t smell like a custodian._

It wasn’t until she was comfortably settled in her reserved seat that she realized she was gripping her bag tightly enough to wrinkle the leather. She forced her hand to let go, bloodless fingers tingling from the exertion as she smoothed it back out on her lap. The black cat charm, reminiscent of Espella’s beloved pet, dangled merrily from the side clasp. It seemed to smile up at her, pointed mouth curved at the corners.

The judge called for order and the gallery quietened, leaving the room clear for the prosecution to call forth the second witness. She let the sound of his voice wash over her, trying to forget how it sounded in her ear, wondering what it feel like against her skin. The cat continued to smile, blissfully unaware of life and all its bewilderments.

She listened to the rest of the trial without hearing a single word.

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue with Phoenix and Maya was taken directly from English Turnabout #1. I triple-checked: it's Owl Cote School for Young Women, not Girls. 
> 
> I'm still feeling a Mandela effect.


End file.
